


Devil With A Blue Dress

by EruditExperimenter



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Arson, Blood, Child Abuse, Faeries - Freeform, Gen, Racism, Recruitment, Violence, WWII, internment camp, scottish mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:33:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EruditExperimenter/pseuds/EruditExperimenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious woman in blue recruits nine mercenaries for her employer</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pyro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those who say the past is not dead
> 
> Stop and smell the smoke

_Somewhere mad…_

"I got the German; it wasn't difficult."

The woman in blue glanced at her left arm where a bandage was hidden beneath her jacket's sleeve.

Well, not  _terribly_  difficult.

Standing at a pay phone with the receiver held between her ear and shoulder, she took a moment to flip through a notebook produced from a pocket and made a thoughtful humming noise.

"No, he didn't say anything definitive, but expect a call from him within twenty-four hours." She paused and a rueful little smile crossed her features. "Just trust me on this. It's why you hired me, after all." Looking up from the booth she allowed her gaze to trail up the stark, concrete walls of the building before her as the voice on the other end rasped into her ear. "I'm about to talk to the girl. I assume you've already gotten in touch with the staff here? Good. Anything else I should know beyond what's in the dossier?" Nodding slowly, listening, she picked at an imaginary piece of lint on her jacket front. "All right, then, I'll contact you once I'm done here."

Hanging up the phone and stepping outside of the booth, she spared a last glance at her parked Bel Air, a dormant, silver predator gleaming in the sun.  Straightening, she murmured under her breath with an arched eyebrow. "Just _trust_ me on this."

Dr. Carlyle Schmidt had small teeth, a suit the color of dried mustard, and a way of looking at the woman in blue that made her want to shove a finger up her nose to make whatever lecherous fantasy he was entertaining about her collapse like a flan in a cupboard.

But because she was a professional, she refrained.

Instead, she returned the smile he offered and bobbed her head as he said, "Of course, we're always _happy_ to do what's in our patient's best interests. We were very pleased about the inquiry concerning case 451. She has been _unresponsive_ to most therapy and medication combinations and we'd felt she would do best if moved into an _adult_ facility upon her majority. However, if Helen is willing to _sponsor_ her for the program that was outlined for us, we'll do everything in our power to cooperate."

The familiarity almost made the doctor's companion roll her eyes openly. He was about two steps away from an actual, 'wink-wink, nudge-nudge' and it was beginning to annoy her.

_I am privy to sensitive information. I am being trusted to do this job. I am name-dropping because I get to talk directly to The Boss. I am Very Important._

"And we appreciate that," the woman said with a polite smile. "Of course, I've been sent to ascertain conclusively whether or not she'll meet the criteria we've established. Charts, files and statistics only go so far."

"Naturally!" Schmidt replied with an eager expression as he got to his feet. "Follow me and I'll take you so you can have a word with her."

Orderlies walked up and down the hallways the pair traversed.  They seemed to perform a mass, synchronized ritual whose finer points were secret to all but the participants. The woman in blue fiddled, grinning amusedly for a second, with a tag indicating she was a guest in the facility. _Aster Hargraves_. As her guide babbled away beside her, she busied herself by counting doors and emergency exits, noting the lack of windows and watching the practiced, ant-like patterns of the facility's employees. Presently they arrived at a small, glass-encased booth beside a door in which a bored-seeming nurse sat.  She looked up from her cup of coffee as Schmidt and his guest approached. A nod from the physician elicited a jab at something on her side of the station, the door buzzing like an upset swarm of insects before the mustard-suited man opened it and led the way into a more open area.

A number of tables were spread throughout a spacious room, their tops strewn with books, board games and art supplies. The occupants were exclusively girls, appearing to be between ages ten and seventeen. They had no particular order about them, a few of them in knots of three or four doing one activity or another while others went about solitary pursuits. Over the whole of it hung a peculiar pall through which they all moved.  The woman calling herself Aster Hargraves likened it to honey bees whose keeper had engulfed them in smoke. How much was induced by whatever medications they were taking and what was merely the soul of the building getting to them all was difficult to tell, but the woman in blue found the target of her visit immediately.

Solidly built, the girl had elegantly upswept eyes. Her black hair was short and boyish, which only made more of her high cheek bones and revealed small, well-formed ears. Her skin was smooth and coppery, bringing the burn scars into sharper relief.

They were, admittedly, not numerous, but undeniably present. Chiefly centralized on her hands and lower arms, their glossy, mottled, uneven texture played a stark contrast to the skin surrounding them. Beneath her patchwork hands was a sheet of paper upon which the girl was drawing with colored pencils. It seemed an abstract work; a piece consisting of varied swirls and spirals all in warm, vibrant shades. Crimson blended into vermilion and mingled with canary and scarlet that all bled together into a deep, velvety heart of maroon.

_There you are._

Schmidt was going on about something, but the woman in blue was already leaving his side. Her passage was marked by halted conversations and eyes lifting from their tasks. Something panther-like characterized her stride. The swing in her waist and motion of her arms called to mind primal, vestigial memories of things living beyond friendly circles of firelight.  

While 451 did not move until the woman was standing close by, a slight tenseness in her shoulders communicating awareness of the new presence. Looking up at the facility's guest, she revealed eyes the color of charcoal that seemed oddly flat and lightless. The guest calling herself Aster smiled to the young woman. "I hear there's a garden. Would you care to walk with me there for a while?"

The younger of the women furrowed her brow and spared a glance at Schmidt, who stood with the nervous uncertainty of a man carrying a baton in a relay race and finding himself with no partner to whom he might pass it.

"Don't worry about him," reassured the woman in blue with a smile.  She gestured for the other to join her as she started toward an exit whose security was tended to by an orderly. "In fact, why don't you not ever worry about him again?"

Setting aside her art supplies, the charcoal-eyed girl got to her feet and followed her visitor.  A nod from a rather put-out doctor to an orderly allowed them passage through the back door and out into the yard beyond. Currently empty of personnel and patients, the garden was a simple affair, been made without the aid of any sharp tools.  Its plants were of a hardy variety easily tended to. Walled in, its two occupants were nevertheless favored by a breeze warmed by the day's fair weather. Watching the girl's gaze linger on a riotous gathering of fiery nasturtiums, the blue-jacketed woman smiled and spoke in a honeyed tone.

"Why did you kill your baby sister?"

The girl wheeled around, her previously lightless eyes now bright with the fearful, animal anger of a cornered dog. Her fingers curled, talon like, and were held tense at her sides as her shoulders hunched. She sputtered a few inarticulate noises before finally spitting out words like water spattering out of a boiling, kettle. " _Who are you_?"

"Someone," the woman continued in a soothing tone, "who can keep you from being institutionalized for the rest of your life. In fact, I can make one phone call and you can leave out the front door in a cab; whisked away from here forever. But that will depend largely upon how our conversation develops."

Seeming at a loss and thoroughly unsettled, the girl eventually came to an uneasy stance.  Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she held the woman in blue in an unblinking gaze. "Okay. What is this about?"

"This is about you potentially coming under the employ of the entities which I represent. You fit a particular profile for a position they wish to fill."

"What kind of position?" the girl said incredulously, raising her brows. At this, the older of the two withdrew a tiny box from her pocket from which she removed a single match in one liquid motion. Instantly the youth's eyes became fixated upon it, her mouth hanging open fractionally and her lower lip quivering. "How…did you get that in here?"

"I'm a clever one," she said simply, twisting the object between her fingertips. "No one believed you about your father, did they?"

A quavering breath passed from the charcoal-eyed girl's opened mouth, her frame watery-seeming and vulnerable. "I don't…he didn't…"

"Who would believe a shifty, tricky little girl, anyway? Not even your mother would hear it, so why would anyone else? You had no one to turn to – no control over your life and what course it would take. But that's what you craved over any other thing, wasn't it? Control." She struck the match, the head flaring to life like an inflamed nerve.  It drew a soft gasp from 451. "That's why you became so fixated on  _this_. This was something you could control – something dangerous and potentially destructive that obeyed  _you_. Even if you had no say over what happened to your body, you had this under your thumb."

The breathing of the girl began to become ragged as the match burned down and was eventually flicked out with a deft motion of the blue-clad woman's fingers. "How did you…I never told  _anyone_  about why…"

"Like I said – I'm a clever one. They found you outside of the house in your back yard with your arms plunged into the koi pond, the inferno you started to your back. Now, I wondered a while if this was a case of you losing your mastery over the fire itself, but I don't think it was. I think it was a different loss of control."

Shaking her head, the facility's resident let out a pitiful bleat. "I didn't know it would hurt like that. I thought…I thought it would be all right. I didn't understand…I was sure I knew! Then it started happening and it  _hurt_  so  _much_! I couldn't think…I didn't even know I was running until my arms were in the water. I didn't mean to – I  _didn't_!"

"No, I don't think you did mean to run. I think you meant to have everyone in that house, yourself included, die in a way that you could control. You'd finally have a say in what happened to you – and everyone else, too. Now, _that_ I can understand – taking along your mother and father." The woman in blue tilted her chin down and fixed her companion with a probing gaze. And then she lied. "What I can't understand is the baby. Why kill her, too?"

Tears cut crooked lines down the young woman's face and she let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "And if she lived? Then what? Have her dragged off to live with some foster family? People who would do the same thing to her as was done to me? Put her through that?" She shook her head and her voice lowered, becoming intense and heated as an ember. "No. I wasn't going to let that happen. I didn't  _kill_  her – I  _saved_  her."

For a while nothing was said between the pair; the young woman's visitor watching her as a cat might watch a mouse's hole. "Do you want a job, girl?"

"Where would I be going?" she said thickly, rubbing the tears from her face.

"Somewhere you could have that old control back; somewhere where your race and gender won't matter one bit. Somewhere without head shrinkers and all this other useless folderal designed to make  _other_  people feel better about themselves. Most importantly, somewhere that's not  _here,_ " the older woman said, taking in the expanse of the facility with one dismissive gesture. "And isn't that reason enough?" She extended a hand to the charcoal-eyed girl and gave her a smile like a knife. "Shall I make that phone call?"

_People don't usually consider shower curtains to be fire hazards. She liked that. It was a good place to start – cutting off a chief source of what could potentially be relief in all this._

_There wasn't going to be a reprieve this time – no excuse and nothing to hide behind. No lie would grant safe passage. The fire didn't care about lies and denial. It was inexorable, unstoppable; consuming and cleansing. The doors and windows were all jammed, sealed or obstructed. She'd been reading – people could sleep right through the smell of smoke and succumb to noxious gases. That was the chief killer in house fire – not the flames themselves but the smoke._

_A splash of whiskey from the bottle she'd retrieved from the cabinet in the drawing room, the casual strike of one match, the ozone smelling of finality, and the curtain becoming a blaze of color. Fire flickered upward, gaining purchase and nibbling eagerly toward the ceiling; feeling not at all like a separate thing, bur rather an extension of the girl's body. Fierce joy surged within her, ricocheting through her limbs and gaining momentum until it became audible as a high-pitched whine in her brain. She realized she was smiling only after she felt pain at the edges of her mouth._

_There was a stove downstairs which she'd prepped – kitchen towels to be set alight and a sack of flour ready to burst into the air. The explosion would be a fine thing to see at the end. But before that…_

_She exited the bathroom as the persistent crackling began to grown into a roar and entered the room whose walls were decorated with fanciful images; a basinet surrounded by frolicking sheep, vividly colored balloons and swooping birds. The tiny figure within was snug and sleeping, not a care on her little features._

" _I'm sorry it has to be this way," the girl said softly, withdrawing her box of matches and striking one down its side, "but I don't know how else to save you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from, Smoke, by Ben Folds Five


	2. Engineer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was told when I grew up I could be anything I wanted: a fireman, a policeman, a doctor – even President, it seemed. And for the first time in the history of mankind, something new, called an astronaut. But like so many kids brought up on a steady diet of Westerns, I always wanted to be the avenging cowboy hero – that lone voice in the wilderness, fighting corruption and evil wherever I found it, and standing for freedom, truth and justice. And in my heart of hearts I still track the remnants of that dream wherever I go, in my endless ride into the setting sun…"  
> \- Bill Hicks

_In the middle of goddamn no where..._

"His name's Champion, if yer wonderin', ma'am."

Dell Conagher ambled up to the woman in a blue dress standing at the fence who was gently stroking the nose of the Appaloosa that had wandered over to greet her, reaching into the pockets of his overalls and holding out a sugar cube for her to take. "Give 'im one a' these an' he'll be your friend forever," he said with an amiable smile.

Nodding and returning his smile, the woman took the proffered sugar and, upturned palm held flat, offered it to the horse. Champion nickered softly before taking the treat, ears pricked forward.

"Such a gentleman," she said with a grin. "Champion...like Gene Autry's horse, right?"

The man beamed. "That's jes' right, ma'am. If y'don't mind me inquirin', not many come this way. What brings ya to my neck a' the woods?"

"Something's going on with my car," the woman replied, gesturing to the Bel Air with the popped hood. "I can't figure it out. I was actually going to ask if I could use your phone to call a mechanic."

He gave a warm chuckle and waved her over. "You couldn'ta picked a better spot t'break down, ma'am. Don't you bother calling a mechanic – I'll have a look at it. I've been workin' on cars since I was knee-high to a grasshopper."

"Could you?" she said, tucking a lock of dark hair behind one ear with a demure smile. "I can pay you."

He held up a hand, shaking his head. "Don't worry about that, darlin' – happy to be of service. C'mon inside and make yourself at home. I'll get my tools and take care of it for ya. I'm Dell. Please t'meet you, ma'am."

"I'm Iris, Iris Tan. Thank you." She purred the words in such a way to make the hairs on the back of the Southerner's neck stand on end. Nevertheless, he escorted the woman in blue down a long driveway of hard packed dirt that ran alongside the horse enclosure.  It led to a ranch-style house with an impressive porch upon which stood a pair of rocking chairs, a sweating glass of sweet tea set on a small table between them. Opening the screen door for her, she was struck immediately by the smell of parchment and old leather and the soft, subtle hum of clockwork. As her eyes adjusted to the light, the woman drew in a soft breath at floor-to-ceiling shelves in the living room.  They were packed neatly with volumes interrupted occasionally by items of curiosity.  She spied miniature globes, ponderous metal or wooden figurines of indeterminate origin or tiny, impossibly intricate structures built in glass bottles like ships and little, turreted castles. The walls sported almost nothing in bare spots, every inch seeming occupied by diagrams of machinery, architecture, animal and human anatomy, replicas of famous paintings.  Shelves held microscopes and old radios as if they were works of art to be venerated. A guitar rested in its stand nearby a worn, but well loved arm chair.

Above all, though, were the clocks.

They were everywhere; on tables and the mantelpiece and all over the walls. Their designs ran the gamut – simple clocks of many regular geometric shapes, flowing, organic lines, cuckoo clocks, grandfather clocks and even little fob watches hung by their chains from standing hooks.

One might think of a living space so densely occupied as busy, but he'd somehow managed it all in such a way as to be tidy and ordered. Everything seemed just exactly in its place; as if it could be arranged no other way. The overall effect was that of a living thing – its anatomical lines etched out on the walls with shelves and countless book spines composing its skeletal structure and dozens of hearts ticking away to so many different beats they ceased to be separate and joined in chorus; a single, steady murmur.

"I have sweet tea, if you'd care for any, or ice water if that's yer preference," he said, slipping past her and seeming oblivious to the bones of the beast he called home. He tried leading her to the kitchen and paused, blinking at the woman behind his spectacles when he saw she seemed unable to move. "Y'alright, ma'am?"

"You…did you make all of these?" she inquired breathlessly, eyes still moving from clock face to clock face; each seeming to mark the time of a different city or country.

Dell followed her gaze and let out a little laugh. "Oh! Yeah, I did. Bit of a hobby of mine – keeps the hands busy."

It was her turn to laugh, the woman in blue arching an eyebrow. "Deprive the Devil his plaything, hm?" Shaking her head slowly in wonder, she took a few steps forward, kneeling to observe the working of a little fob ticking away merrily.

"I bring 'em in to town now and again," he said, running a fingertip fondly down the side of a nearby cuckoo clock. "Or use 'em to teach classes."

"They're wonderful," she breathed. "Do you ever do anything bigger?"

"Well," he said slowly, "I work on farm equipment and cars for my neighbors every so often. Do a little in the way of industrial art now and again with scrap I get in and can't do nothin' else with." He lifted one hand and removed his glasses, critically watching the woman as she straightened herself, trying to read in her body language. "I've worked on and off at the university in the city teaching classes, doin' lectures and the like."

"So, nothing complex like this on a grander scale then?" she continued. Her voice had lost its awed tone.  The demure gratitude she displayed before evaporated from her features as her posture changed.

Sighing, Dell pinched the bridge of his nose before perching his spectacles back on it and surveying her with a glint of weariness in his Summer blue eyes. "Lemme guess – the Company sent ya?"

"Very astute; although I would have thought you'd have figured that out by now," she said with a slightly impish smile.

"Figured I'd give ya the benefit of the doubt," he said, gesturing toward the kitchen. "Still tea if ya want any."

"Please," she said, striding into the indicated room and having a seat at the table. He followed a moment later, opening the ice box and removing a pitcher.

"I get one a' you folks out here 'bout once a year," he said, pouring her a glass with a shake of his head and setting it on the table for her. "My answer ain't changin' – I'm jes' fine where I am."

"Out in the middle of no where, working on watches, pick-up trucks and tractors? Lecturing at universities to people who will never grasp your brilliance?" she said coolly, taking a long sip from her drink. "You're wasted where you are right now and you know it."

"I'm perfectly content," he insisted calmly, folding his hands on the tabletop.

"Your father wouldn't agree."

The man's mouth drew into a hard line and he gave her a look that could have made a bear think twice. "My daddy," he said slowly, "had a different set of priorities than I do."

"Oh?" the woman said, the word hanging like a mote of dust in the air as she drained another mouthful of tea from the glass. She allowed the moment to draw itself out between them in silence for a while before meeting his gaze, smiling. "May I see what's in the barn, then?"

He blinked at her owlishly, expression like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Even so, it was difficult to mistake the gleam in his eye and the tiniest smile he tried unsuccessfully to hide. "You know about that?"

She grinned back at him, running a fingertip along the rim of her tea glass. "I do now."

In spite of himself, the Texan laughed and shook his head. "Well, alright, little lady – you finish up your drink and I'll let you have a look."

"Outstanding."

The tea disappeared in long sips, the woman in blue unhurried and at ease in the kitchen as if it were her own. She teased him a bit about Gene Autry.

"Singing cowboy, eh? Do you play the guitar, too?" she queried, spinning the remaining ice cube in her glass.

He nodded. "I do."

"You'll have to play, 'Back In The Saddle' for me then, Tex."

Chuckling, he got to his feet, the woman doing the same. "Maybe later." Pointing toward the door leading from the kitchen to the back parts of the property he said, "Follow me."

Twilight was just beginning to settle over the landscape, crickets singing as he led her toward the red barn, pulling a ring of keys from his overalls. He flipped through a few of them before settling on a silver one and inserting it into a lock, letting the double doors yawn open before gesturing the woman in blue inside. The interior was dim, and she could make out vague shapes in the gloom until he closed the door behind him and plunged them into darkness. A click preceded a low humming noise above them and there was a sputtering sound before a series of florescent lights flickered to life, bathing them in their harsh light. Blinking against the sudden brightness, Dell Conagher's guest surveyed the previously shadowy shapes and made a soft noise of genuine wonderment, her eyes luminous.

The first thing that sprang to mind was topiaries – works of industrial art he had mentioned standing among a series of desks and platforms being what she noticed immediately. There were pieces that were abstract, flowing lines of silvery metal calling to mind argent flames.  There were enormous cogs and gears welded together as if they were pieces taken from some unknowably gargantuan machine with an unimaginable purpose. Others were clearly made to be particular figures - animals, plants, and even micro-organisms. Most striking among them was a rust-colored Venus de Milo haloed by electric light bulbs. Toys and knick-knacks were strewn about as well.  She saw delicate dragonflies whose wings pumped slowly up and down, and little robots resting beside remote controls, ready to be commanded. Among the more fanciful creations, however were pieces that seemed to aspire to actual function.  They appeared incomplete, however, or had a directive the woman in blue could not even guess. There were engines that powered nothing, and objects that seemed to be half-built guns with peculiar designs. She saw partially constructed prosthetics whose digits twitched when stimulated by electricity. Desks were stacked with paper and schematics and diagrams were pinned to the walls.

It all suggested tremendous potential stymied by lack of resources or some puzzle piece not yet discovered.

"It's wonderful," she breathed. "I'm not surprised, though. I've seen the things your father did for the Company."

"I am gonna say this once an' once only," the Southerner stated curtly. "I am not my father."

"No, you aren't," the woman replied simply. "Your old man didn't try to hide from what he was; what you are."

Dell's entire frame went rigid and his eyes blazed. "And if you don't mind me askin', what exactly are you insinuatin' I'm hiding from?"

"The thing that made your wife leave you. The thing you're hiding out here in a barn in the middle of no where because you're letting the tyranny of mediocrity and 'reasonable voices' dictate the terms of your life."

The man's face went through a few extraordinary shades of the spectrum before he spoke again. "Ma'am, I don't know who you think you are or where you get off talkin' to me about my life like you know it better 'n I do. But my daddy let alla  _this_  consume him, and I ain't lettin' the same happen to me."

"It's already ruined every relationship you've tried to have and I assure you, that pattern  _will_  continue into the future. There's nothing you can change about that. What you can change, though, is the Limbo you've stuck yourself in."

"Of all the folks they've ever sent out here," he murmured lowly, "none of them have had your unmitigated gall."

"Well then I'm about to go a step beyond too far, so fair warning," she said with an unconcerned shrug. "You're not able to hold down the meaningful relationship society keeps telling you you ought to have because none of it is as good as this." The blue-clad woman made a wide arc with one arm to encompass the barn's contents. "No matter what you do or whom you do it with, you have been and always will be more satisfied by what you do out here. And I don't blame you one bit. Look at all of this. You're a genius, Dell Conagher, and you don't have to live by the standards of a society that would rather have you dial back your talents for the sake of their fear and convenience. You can tell yourself otherwise, and I assure you there'll be a ready chorus to sing along, but at the end of the day the rules and regulations that govern the masses don't apply to people like you. I am sorry that your father didn't hug you as much as you would have liked, but you two are more alike than I think you care to admit. The difference between you is that he embraced what he was where you're trying to fit into a role you weren't made for." Her voice lowered to a midnight tone that walked down his spine in a soft, subtle feline stride, "This life you're living is a lie; which I do not need to tell you."

A tense silence settled over the pair like a mantle, the woman surveying him through half-moon eyes, neither of them moving.

"I think you need to go," he said finally. The words were quiet; hollowed out of any emotion or argument.

She nodded before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a card, extending it to him from between her fore and middle fingers. "I doubt I need to give you this, but our phone number is here. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week – we can have a transport out to you in half an hour if necessary. Good evening, Mr. Conagher."

The woman excused herself, exiting out the double doors and making her way along the pasture back to a perfectly functional Bel Air whose hood she closed. She slid into the driver's seat and glided through the Southern evening like a silver serpent to a gas station where she plunked a few coins into a pay phone.

"Helen? Consider him yours."

" _Git along there, Champion! Them gall durn injuns done come for our women folk again!"_

_Champion the tortoise took a moment to crane his neck slowly in the direction of the nine-year-old boy with a precariously balanced ten gallon hat on his head and overly large goggles.  He then turned his attention back to the romaine lettuce he'd been progressing through._

_The boy made a face half a second before his hat slipped over his ears and fell down around his shoulders. Letting out a muffled yelp, he pulled it back up again and sighed, giving his pet a pat on the shell. Ever since he'd been given the little creature from one of the scientists at his father's work, he'd expected it to, given the right stimuli, do something amazing. It had been a test animal, after all, and considering the things that were done at his father's job, he could only imagine what sorts of incredible trials and serums and procedures it might have been subject to. He was certain that if he just said the right word or tapped its shell in a particular pattern, the little creature would reveal rockets hidden within and fly around the room or grow to gigantic proportions so Dell could ride it. So far, however, the extent of the reptile's repertoire seemed to be eating vegetables and mucking about in his water dish. It was disappointing, but he did not blame his friend; it was not his fault. One makes due with the tortoise they have, not the giant, rocket-powered tortoise they wish they had._

_Dell Conagher was sure that he was the only boy in his school that didn't look forward to summer vacation. Not that it **was** much of a vacation for him as he still had schooling to do. He remembered coming here for the first time when he was six, and having been made to answer some questions and solve a few simple puzzles. Ever since then, once the regular school year ended in Bee Cave, where he lived with his mother, he would pack his things, be loaded into his father's pick-up truck and whisked away on a two day drive to the place where his father lived and worked._

_While he did not look forward to reaching the destination, the boy loved the journey._

_They would eat at restaurants on the way where Dell could order whatever he wanted.  They'd stop at places where they could look at such wonders as the world's largest ball of twine or vegetables that bore uncanny resemblances to former United States Presidents. Sometimes, if he was lucky, they would come across a traveling fair or circus and spend a few hours watching acrobats or riding the ferris wheel and snatching up prizes in the midway. Dell's father always had ways of confounding the carnival folk by winning seemingly unattainable items at games like the ball-toss. When the boy questioned him on it, his old man would just smile, eyes crinkling and say, "Physics."_

_His daddy was a broad-shouldered man with strong arms and hands. These stuck out in his mind as the defining features of his father for a few reasons. When one is a young boy strapped into the passenger's seat of a pick-up truck looking to the driver, the driver will turn and look over the curve of his arm to smile at you; face underscored by muscle and sinew under a clean, cotton shirt. As to the knotted hands that gripped the steering wheel, they were capable of feats of engineering. The child was told by the teachers at his summer school he would someday match them, as his father had done before him with Dell's grandfather. The youth had seen a few examples of his paternal figure's genius, often in the form of toys for his birthday or Christmas presents.  But he knew that the robots, remote controlled cars and mechanical birds were probably not the creations to which his teachers referred._

_Dell loved these road trips because he had his father entirely to himself. Summertime was the only part of the year besides Christmas and Thanksgiving and sometimes his birthday when they could be together. The rest of the year his father spent in the giant, hollowed out mountain with the laser in the top (because sometimes them green skinned fellers from Chiron Beta Prime forget their manners and need to be shown whose boss) working for the Company far away from his wife and son in Bee Cave. While the boy's every need was attended to by staff members and his tutors, he rarely was able to spend time with his dad as, Dell was told, he had important work to do. Work, he inferred from the tone of his teachers and lessons, he would one day do as well. It was, after all, the family business, and there seemed to be some tacit understanding that the Company's pupil would fall into line once the time was right, following in the steps of his father and grandfather._

_The realization as to precisely why this made him upset would not occur to the boy until later in life. But the younger Conagher found a tiny grain of irritation in his mind over it of which he could not rid himself. He adjusted the goggles which his father had given him the year before. Even ratcheted to the smallest setting, they left room to grow._

_He'd just lifted Champion into his arms when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he felt his heart leap at the hard hat and overall wearing figure that moved amid a few others._

" _Pa!" he cried, tucking the tortoise under one arm the way one might do a frisbee and running to the little gathering, beaming. "Pa, y'wanna play cowboys and injuns? I been teachin' Champion some new tricks!"_

_Pushing up the brim of his hat and kneeling, the boy's father gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, kiddo, but I got work to do. Maybe later?"_

" _Y'always say that," grumbled the child. "We were gonna do it last week an' then you got them Canadians what could start fires with their minds comin' in, an' the week b'fore that it was talkin' with them mole men 'bout drillin' rights!"_

" _We ain't here t'play, Dell – you know that. I got work an' you got your schoolin'. It's real important we both do our best."_

_The man's son muttered, "Yer always workin'. Ain't never got time to do nothin' else."_

_A look of sympathy flitted across the engineer's face and he placed one knotty-knuckled hand on his son's shoulder. "I know it seems that way, an' I know it don't feel fair t'you, son. But when y'get older, you'll understand."_

_The younger one of the pair felt a hot little flush of defiance wash over him, but held his tongue; Gene Autry had been quite specific, after all, about respecting one's parents. Instead, he only pursed his lips and nodded, taking a squirming Champion back into his hands. Giving his child's shoulder a squeeze, the boy's father got back to his feet._

" _I'll make it up to you, Dell."_

_His father turning and walking away, Dell waited until he was out of earshot, placing his ten gallon hat back on his head before murmuring, "Y'always say that, too."_


	3. Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If fighting is sure to result in victory, then you must fight, even though the ruler forbid it; if fighting will not result in victory, then you must not fight even at the ruler's bidding.
> 
> \- Sun Tzu

_In a place where arteries are punished for their insolence…_

Jane Doe believed in red meat the way other men might believe in God.

The rib house was usually one he ordered from instead of coming to directly, but every once in a blue moon Jane felt the need to be in the vicinity of other men who knew their rightful place at the top of the food chain. These were his fellows whose colons were dedicated to the cause of striking fear into the hearts of farmyard animals everywhere. He was about a quarter-way through the rack he'd ordered when the woman in blue slid into the seat at the booth across from him. Before he could say anything, she'd flagged down a waiter and put an order in for a full rack of ribs, two shots of whiskey and a pint of beer.

The expression on his face was like that of a dog that had just been shown a card trick. "Lady, what in the name of Liberty's sweet, crotchless panties are you doing? Do I  _know_  you?"

"Not even a little, but we can change that. My name is Viola Quitely," she lied before giving the waiter an appreciative nod as he returned, setting down a shot of whiskey in front of each of them. "And I'm buying you your meal tonight."

It was a bizarre twist to the man's evening.  But, considering it came in the form of a raven-haired, sloe-eyed woman in a clingy, cerulean dress footing the bill for booze and ribs, it was difficult to walk away from. Nevertheless, this deviation from the norm raised a few red flags, and he found himself rather conflicted as to how to react until she raised her shot glass with a puckish smile.

His reaction was automatic, taking up his own shot between thick fingers and lifting it, still bewildered.

"To the blood of my enemies and the lamentation of their women," she said with a dip of her chin and a wicked smile before knocking back the liquor, hissing through her teeth at the searing strength of it.

The lines of his posture relaxed somewhat and he let out a raucous laugh. "I'll drink to that, sister!" he growled and did so. Rumbling approvingly at the heat in his belly, he looked over the woman currently sipping on her chaser. "And what brings a pretty little filly like you here?"

The woman shrugged and smiled at him while looking up through her lashes. "What can I say? I love a man in uniform."

She was being a bit generous with the term. What he was wearing didn't exactly seem to be regulation. It looked more like something he'd coordinated from military surplus stores, second hand shops and hand-sewn items. He seemed to be a pretty fair hand with a needle and thread, which was to his credit.  But, he looked less like an actual soldier than he did a caricature of one. These observations the woman in blue kept to herself, bidding the waiter to return with the bottle of whiskey when he deposited the sizzling rack of ribs before her.

Her comment seemed to go over well, Jane grinning at her under the rim of his helmet. "Think your eyes are a little big for your stomach there, pumpkin," he chortled, tearing into another rib.

"Oh, really?" she said, leaning back a little and arching an eyebrow. "I'll bet I can go rib for rib and shot for shot with you."

"Are you challenging me, missy?" he growled, face flecked with barbeque sauce. "I'll have you know I have been subjected to unrelenting Nazi 'wurst torture! Do you understand what that _is_? I have had an entire pig crammed into its own intestine forced down my gullet without the benefit of any namby pamby masticating! We are talking fiber in the form of a bran muffin the size of a man's head to move  _that_ volume of pork product through twenty-eight feet of star-spangled digestive tract and back into the faces of those kraut munching back births! So, if it is a gauntlet that you throw down know that I have the gastrointestinal fortitude to deliver, princess!"

"Alright, tough guy," she replied coolly as the waiter set the bottle of whiskey between them. Pouring them both a shot and lifting hers again, the woman said, "What are we drinking to this time?"

He considered a moment before saying, "I'll drink t'you, cupcake," raising his shot with a craggy smile. "There aren't many ladies out there with your kinda moxy!"

"I take it as a mark of pride," she replied, returning his grin before they swallowed the liquor simultaneously. The second shot went down a bit easier than the first, although she still shook her head as if to dissipate the alcoholic burn. Her companion laughed before continuing with his rib, the woman in blue cutting one from the rack and starting on it. Whatever else might be said about her dinner partner for the evening, he evidently had discerning taste in barbeque. She nodded with an impressed look. "It's been a while since I've had anything like this. It's a nice change of pace."

"What's usually on the menu?"

"My family's Irish," she said with a little smile, "so pretty much anything boiled to the point where you could drink it through a straw."

"Ah, so maybe this whiskey duel is no idle threat," he grumbled with a toothy grin.

"Not at all; although you struck me as a whiskey man," she replied, cleaning her fingertips and tossing the meatless bone to her plate, pouring them each another measure of liquor and raising the glass. "Still, there's nothing quite like family. Here's to them."

The pair shared another shot, the effects of the spirits beginning to become a bit more evident in each of them as they started into the next rib in their meal. "D'you have a family, soldier boy? Some lady waiting for you at the docks an' a whole mess a' kids?"

He shook his head, chewing his mouthful slowly before answering. "Nah, nothin' like that. Had me a high school sweetheart, but that was years ago." There was a long pause as he seemed to reflect, and while she could not see his eyes, the faraway expression was easy to read on the lower half of his face. Another shot of was poured for each of them, and he raised his along with the woman in blue. "Here's to her."

They each took a drink, the duo wavering ever so slightly in their seats. There was a long silence in which they each neglected their food, the make-shift soldier breaking it finally with, "Goddamn sons of bitches. Manzanar. Jesus. She was seventeen."

"Yurie's a pretty name," the woman in blue slurred.

Jane nodded heavily, fiddling with a clean rib bone between two fingers. "She wuzza pretty girl. Never met anyone like her b'fore or since. Kissin' her was like comin' home to warm apple pie. Smile like fireworks." He stopped mid-reach for a new rib as a dull epiphany came to him. "Waittaminute, how d'you know her name?"

Her lids were low and her smile was pure, poisoned cream as she cooed, "How are the feet treating you, Jane?"

He made a flailing, clumsy attempt at leaping to said feet, succeeding only in a hang-a-ma-jang pose with his body caught awkwardly between the booth seat and table. Once he righted himself, he slammed a fist down that rattled their plates and cups, glaring at her from behind his helmet. "The state of my feet is classified information, you sneaky little minx! Who sent you? Was it the Reds? I'm not giving up a thing, you Soviet seductress!"

"Right out of high school, they were taking boys left and right and you were passed over. No - worse. You volunteered and you were  _rejected_. It must have seemed like the stupidest reason to keep you out of the armed forces. Flat feet. Otherwise you were healthy as a horse. Most young men would have just given up and considered another career option. But you took it upon yourself to buy equipment and a plane ticket to Poland where you slogged around for years even after the war was finished. Maybe you had some military aspirations in your head before you even laid eyes on her. My guess is that you at least had the seeds of it. I think she was the reason you went through with it all, though." She shook her head with an inebriated little grin. "My God, you are one ballsy bastard. Though I guess that sort of comes with the territory of being a boy named, 'Jane.' Her daddy must have been furious over her dating a big lug of a white boy like you. I admit it's romantic in a way, though; the Romeo and Juliet of the War Relocation Act."

Jane looked conflicted, his jaw quavering slightly, unsure of where to direct the tumult of feelings within him. He finally burst out with, "It wasn't fair, goddamnit! They were Americans!  _She_  was an American! Spies for Japan…disloyal saboteurs…Jesus all you had to do was sit down with 'em for five minutes t'see that was a load of humbug! Somebody had to fight for 'em!"

"No boys in the family to join the service," the woman in blue added, idly spinning her shot glass, "and for once the rebellious Ms. Suzuki submitted to her parents and didn't join the WAC. So you took on the responsibility of defending their honor; you poor, noble son of a bitch. Bad enough you were fighting a war, but you were doing it all on your own. No material support, no comradeship from fellow troops, no formal training. The isolation alone must have been staggering. And you had no fanfare to come home to, either. Four years too late for that. _And_ because you weren't officially a member of the military, you didn't have any support or benefits to help deal with the aftermath of what you put yourself through. You sacrificed your peace of mind for their well being and nobody gave a damn because you didn't do it within their established boundaries." She lifted the whiskey bottle again and poured him a measure which he quickly knocked back. "Now that boy is gone along with the girl he went to war for.  You're who's taken his place, and the world doesn't make sense anymore."

"Sister, I am  _not crazy_ ," he growled, hackles rising.

"Didn't say you were," the woman told him, holding up her hands placatingly. "What I'm saying is you're not in your element. I represent a party interested in changing that."

He gave her a puzzled expression, "Are you saying you wanna hire me to bash Nazi skulls in?"

"Well, I can't really speak for the skulls' political affiliations, but something like that, yes. By the way, it's Mrs. Takitani now." She withdrew a few photos from her pocket and tossed them onto the tabletop casually. "She's living in Osaka with her husband; has two kids. Very happy."

Jane felt his stomach give a cruel and sudden twist as he peered down at black-and-white photographs of a woman with long, black hair and a dazzling smile. His eyes fixed on one of her standing in a playground, unmistakable even years afterward amid half a dozen other women. A boy and a girl held each of her hands and the whole of her seemed to glow with contentment.

Something inside made a noise he'd never heard before, curling in on itself and going dark.

He set his mouth in a determined line, nodded once, curtly, and said, "Where do I sign up?"

" _Please, Jane, take it and keep it safe."_

_Jane Doe stood in the woods surrounding his town – a little clearing he'd come to almost every day after school since he was a freshman. It was a bit of a trek, but it was a place safely beyond the eyes and ears of his classmates and neighbors. He'd gotten better at navigating the wilderness over the years and now knew the place as if it were his own backyard. At first he'd had a few instances of losing a boot to thick mud or stumbling over roots and getting himself banged up, but he did not let that deter him from his goal. He had good reason to eschew the company of his fellows and she was standing before him in a cardigan with her long ponytail and eyes that had recently been crying._

_He'd never been terribly sociable – being a boy named, 'Jane' tended to put a chip on one's shoulder and children can be cruel. It did not stop him from participating in after school sports when they came into season, which provided a decent outlet for him. The boy spoke little, and most people came away from him with the impression he was stretched tense like a drum skin; ready to boom if struck the right way._

_Yurie hadn't been the least bit intimidated by it._

_Jane had been seated in the bleachers having his lunch on a crisp autumn day when all five feet of her sauntered up and plopped itself down beside him, plucking an apple out of the brown paper bag his mother had packed for him and biting into it without so much as a, 'please' or, 'thank you.' He'd sat there gawping at her in all her audacity for a little while before she finally said, "You looked like you could use some company."_

_He adored her at once._

_They tried to be reasonably low-key at school. There were no overt signs of affection, but they would meet eyes in the hallways and share small, knowing smiles or eat their lunch together on the bleachers. The open secret was something they reveled in for a few months before rumor about them got to Jane's father and the boy received one of the soundest thrashings of his life. Yurie's parents were not physical with their reprimand, but were nevertheless disapproving. From then on it was the woods after school and feigned ignorance of each other during._

" _It's not us that's wrong," she'd said, holding ice to the shiner Jane's father had given him. "It's the rest of the world."_

_Pearl Harbor brought the rest of the world to their doorstep. And now the WRA was about to take her right out of his hands._

_Staring at the lumpy, brown paper-wrapped parcel in his hands, Jane's brow furrowed. "I still can't believe it," he murmured distantly. "Yurie, it's not right. They can't just evacuate everyone Japanese here." He shook his head, feeling ill. "They haven't given any of you enough time to even get ready. Seven days? It's ridiculous! What about the farmers? What are they going to do? Who's going to look after their crops? Where is your family going to keep all of their things until they get back?"_

" _They've sold a lot of it and taken what they can to the Community Center," she said, blinking back a fresh round of tears. "Oh, Jane, there's furniture stacked to the ceiling there…trunks and boxes…" She drew in a shaking breath and pulled herself up to her full height, eyes becoming bright. "Earlier the FBI came to our house and took everything they thought was Japanese; my father's shakuhachi and my mother's kimono. Illegal contraband," she said with a bitter laugh. "They arrested father and took him away. They went around arresting everyone." Her mouth drew tight with defiant pride, looking at the package in the boy's hands. "But they didn't find that. I hid it. They can't have it – I won't let them. I need you to keep it safe for us until we come back_

_"Yurie," he said with a solemn intensity, "I know they're gonna draft me anyway in June, but I'll do better than that. I'll volunteer - I'll join on my own. I'll fight for you and your family. I'll do my part to help end the war so you can come home. And when you do, by God I don't care what anyone says - I'll marry-"_

_He was cut off as the girl threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, the little bundle he'd been entrusted with pressed between the pair. She had a warm, fragile strength to her that made Jane feel weak and brave at the same time. Her tongue flickered into his mouth, and then she slid backward, looking up at him with teary eyes and an unreadable expression. Before another word could be spoken, she turned and ran out of his life._

_For a long while he stared after her, watching the undergrowth and wilderness as if she would emerge from it again; some honey-skinned sylvan nymph. After it became clear he was alone, he turned his attention to the item to which he had been entrusted, peeling away the brown paper and twine. Nestled in the handful of packaging like some regal bird was a helmet with a golden crest._

_Softly, to no one; to the world, he whispered, "I promise."_


	4. Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He died well, that should please you. No bribe attempts or blubbering. He simply said, 'Please. Please, I need to live.'"
> 
> \- The Man in Black, The Princess Bride

_Up a damn mountain…_

By the time the woman in blue smelled smoke, it was already too late.

She hadn't wanted to come to this part of the world at this time of year. Although she had expressed her misgivings to her superiors, they'd assured her she'd be outfitted with the latest in Mann Co. extreme weather survival gear and equipment. In response, she expressed her misgivings to her superiors concerning Mann Co. developing gear and equipment that had a tendency to spontaneously combust. To this, her superiors assured her that these allegations were a load of hog wash and the result of bad PR and lily livered cry babies.

Which brought the woman in blue to her current situation: in a snow storm up a damn mountain with her parka on fire.

There was a burst of searing heat and an accompanying flash of red-orange light from her side. She let out a yelp of pain and panic before dropping immediately into the nearest snow bank to quell the flames. For a short while she lay there, hissing at the injury and spitting curses at, 'that denim underpants-wearing Australian mental abortion.' The outburst made her feel better, if only for a moment or two. She was badly in need of a bit of catharsis in light of her recent assignment, even if it was just yelling at an empty mountainside. The gravity of her situation, however, quickly set in. Rolling over, she took an agonizing moment to expose her skin and assess the damage done. Thankfully, the burn wasn't that terrible – something she could care for with fairly minimal trouble. It was, however, the least of her problems.

The Company had outfitted her with a suit and coat that generated their own heat. She was not entirely sure if the process was chemical, electronic or a combination of both – Australian technology was, she had to admit, remarkably complex and difficult to grasp without the aid of a native. They said the suit and parka could keep her at an optimal temperature with fewer layers, lending her greater mobility. And while it was true that it had indeed kept her quite comfortable so far on her trek, now that it had malfunctioned and she could feel the heat quickly draining from her, the woman in blue had to face the fact that she was well and truly screwed.

Sitting up, she swung her pack around and unfastened the top, hoping to find her salvation among her equipment. She was met, instead, with a billowing black cloud of smoke from her now-smoldering supplies that swelled into her face before dissolving into the snow-thick air.

She swore once, loudly.

Tossing aside the useless pack, she took a moment to press one palm to her forehead, gathering her wits.

_You can't stay here. If you want a chance, you must keep going._

It was cruel and unfair and she climbed to her feet and dealt with it.

 _You aren't that far away,_ she told herself.  _Just a few miles. You've been through worse and come out alright._

Both of these statements were true, but with every moment that passed the current situation was climbing the ladder to claim the prize of, 'Worst Jam I've Ever Been In.' As far as her chances went, the woman in blue knew a few miles, even if they were in the right direction, was probably more than she was going to be able to get through alive. Her teeth chattered as her entire body began to shiver in earnest, feeling as if she'd swallowed an earthquake. This was a good sign, though. She just had to keep moving.

Time passed oddly. It seemed unreal to her; after everything to have this cold, bloodless death in a place even God forgot. Would anyone find her? She was supposed to have a tracking device in her suit but she was fairly confident that had ceased to function. Her communications equipment had been in her pack, so there was no chance there. Frozen to death and eaten by wild animals, then? There would be nothing to bury or burn – just a hunk of dead meat in the wilderness without a story it could tell.

_Dead; and your death comes with another's._

"But that's not for certain," she muttered. "It might turn out alright for him, too."

_Come now, don't kid yourself – she's all but guaranteed he's done for. And you've stopped shivering._

The woman in blue blinked slowly at the realization, looking down to see she had, in fact, ceased to shiver.

She cursed again, with less intensity, and continued her trudge. Visibility was terrible, the woman unable to see a foot in front of her.

_You did everything you could. You got about half of them – that's not bad. This was too much of them to ask from you. It was never right in the first place. It's okay. You should just rest now._

"No," she murmured, her lips moving with difficulty. "No, I have to keep going."

_Really – it's alright. They'll understand. He'll understand._

"He doesn't even know. I'll just have disappeared without a trace. He'll never _know_ -!"

She stumbled in the drifts, toppling into the snow. The woman in blue gave a single, piteous sob. But the snow was soft and she found, despite her expectations, that it was quite warm as well. The burn on her side no longer hurt her – she could not even feel it. Her gloved fingers flexed without sensation and she watched them with a detached fascination.

There were worse places to die than here on a fluffy bed enclosed in whiteness. Only a single, nagging regret still pierced her.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I did try. I just wanted to save you."

Unsure whether or not she had actually said the words or if she'd just thought them, the dark-haired woman felt a sudden thrill in her heart as a familiar voice answered her.

_Hey, it's alright. Y'did all ya could. I don't blame ya f'none a' this._

"I should have told you. I don't know what, but something; anything," she continued. There was half a second where she wondered if any of this was happening, but it passed quickly enough when she felt her eyes sting with tears and her chest tighten. "Oh, my baby, I'm so sorry-!"

_Shhh…don't cry. I'll be okay. An' hey – if anybody comes f'me, I'll just run away._

The smile in his last words elicited a delirious little laugh from the woman. As it faded she found the world of white replaced with warmth and sunlight. She was no longer on the mountain, but somehow safe and happy, sitting at a table at an outdoor café enjoying a _galette_  and  _lait ribot_. She took a cigarette from her case and was about to light it when she felt a hand touch her own; feather-delicate as a voice rich velvet purred into her ear.

"Allow me."

There is a color in Brittany that they call  _glasz_ , unique in all the world. Some from the region have eyes in that shade – a pale, blue-green color; a meeting of sea and sky. The man who withdrew a lighter and ignited the end of her cigarette was one of these.  His smile made her feel as if a cool finger had just been drawn up her spine.

Slowly, she smiled back, said his name as if it was a rare and fragile treasure, and then there was nothing.

The woman in blue woke to the smell of spices, cooking meat and cabbage and someone singing lowly and off key in Russian. Every part of her ached and there was a particularly vindictive, throbbing pain in her side. Opening her eyes and adjusting to the light, she found herself lying on a bed under a thick quilt. Staring up, she saw the ceiling to be made up of rough-hewn rafters and hung with dried fruits, vegetables and meats. The walls were lined with tools and a large, heavy coat and hat hung by the door along with a length of rope tied solidly to a peg in the wall.

"Hello?" she said in a tremulous tone.

"Ah, you are avake! Good! Food is almost done," a deep voice boomed at her merrily.

He began singing again as the sloe-eyed woman sat up and took account of herself. Her defunct suit and parka had been taken off and she was dressed in a woven wool shirt that fit her like a tent. Lifting its hem, she looked at the spot from where the pain had been radiating and found it had been patched up, although a bit clumsily. There seemed to be some kind of pungent ointment on it. Looking around she discovered she was in a large, one-room cabin with a rosy-cheeked wood stove over which labored a man who seemed equally ursine and human. Dressed in a wool shirt similar to hers, as well as thick slacks and sturdy boots, he appeared to have shaved his head rather than have gone bald. He looked over his shoulder, and gave her a broad, toothy smile.

"Imagine my surprise – go out to get bundle of vood, find stray cat on doorstep!"

She gave a tiny, snorting laugh in spite of herself. "Stray cat? That's flattering."

"Vell, vere not looking your best, Katya. Vere burned and half frozen. Confused how you manage this." He ladled out two bowls of the soup he'd been making and pulled a chair up to her bedside, handing her one.

"Australian efficiency," she said ruefully, taking the soup with a grateful nod.

"Almost dead," he continued his voice softening somewhat as he touched the side of her face. "Katya knows better than to be outside this time of year in thin, flimsy suit. Is good to see you again, but vhy you come here?"

"I'll tell you after I get some of this down," she said, lifting a spoonful of cabbage from the bowl. "Was I really just outside your door?"

The man shrugged. "This kind of weather, man can get lost one meter from house. People have died like this before." He pointed to the rope knotted securely to the peg by the door. "In Spring time, I measure rope to vood pile and smoke house. Make sure I have enough length to get from cabin to there and tie to self so I do not get lost. Vas out to get more vood for stove, found leetle cat half buried out front." He gave her chin an affectionate tap. "I bring you in, varm you up. No frost bite - very lucky."

"Nine lives," she said with a little smile before having a few spoonfuls of soup. "It _is_  good to see you again, _Zheleznyy Kulak_."

He chortled with a fond smile. "Have not been called that in long time. T'ink  _you_  may be last person to call me that."

"Hasn't been  _that_  long," she sniffed, trying very hard not to think just how long ago it  _had_  been since the end of the War.

Her companion gave a boisterous laugh at her flash of vanity. "Last I checked you are having many leetle vuns. Vhat are you doing here? I am sure they need their mama."

She paused, brow furrowing as she looked into the bowl she was holding. "Not so little anymore. Most of them have left in one way or another. In prison or run off to God only knows where. I haven't been a very good mother. But I'm trying to make it up to my youngest." Pursing her lips, she stirred the soup once. "That's why I'm here."

He gave her a quizzical look.

"I represent a company interested in hiring you on as…well I suppose 'mercenary' is the most fitting term for it. They know about your record in the war and they're impressed. _Zheleznyy Kulak_. That's what they want."

"I do not understand," he said slowly, narrowing his eyes.

"Listen…I know a lot of people seem to have forgotten that whoever Russia sided with was going to win the War. Let's be honest - even if the Axis managed to take all the other countries, they'd still be facing eleven time zones of Joseph Stalin."

He tensed a little at this, his blue eyes turning steely.

She raised a hand. "Sorry. The point I'm trying to make is-"

"So, are they wanting Order 227 then?" he said grimly. "More of, ' _Ni Shagu Nazad_ '?" He sighed heavily and ran one massive hand over his face. "Kitten, I thought ve vere both through vit this."

"Please."

He stopped and looked at the woman unable to meet his eyes, her entire frame rigid. Never had he heard her say that word in that tone.

"I'm not at liberty to go into the particulars," she said, still not meeting his gaze, "but if you take this job, you'll be helping my child."

"I do not understand, still," he said, the edge leaving his voice. "If you are vanting to help leetle vun, vhy not go home? Be good mama to him?" He paused, looking thoughtful. "If you are vanting, maybe I come vit you?"

She looked up at him, features softening. "That's very sweet of you," the woman said, genuinely touched. "But I think we both know that couldn't work for a great many reasons."

He shrugged with a grin. "Vorth asking. Alvays thought it might be nice to be papa. But, vell…have difficulties vit that." Her companion gave a sheepish smile that looked peculiar on his rough features. "Still t'ink baby better off vit mama."

The woman in blue shook her head. "It's a bit late for all that. He'll be eighteen in a few months." Her mouth pulled tight at this; the fact hanging over her like a Sword of Damocles. "I did the best I could by him. He's had me in his life more than any of his siblings, but this is something I don't have the influence to help him with alone."

Her host let out a low, grumbling hum of consideration. "Do not vant to be shooting comrades again."

"You won't have to; quite the reverse, in fact. They'll need support you are uniquely qualified to provide. Your heavy weapons training, demeanor and history make you an ideal candidate." Her voice lowered by half an octave. "I've seen you fight. I know Order 227 went against your nature and poisoned what you found meaningful on the battlefield, but don't deny that there  _was_  meaning there for you. I'm asking you to find it again, if you think you're able to."

His eyes were distant, the Russian somewhere beyond the reach of his guest's subtleties. She could only guess at the veils being parted and the places being revisited. There was an acute pang of guilt she had not felt with the others; regret gnawing at her. Something was coming to a close between them.

When he looked up again, her savior seemed, at first, aged. Beneath the weariness, however, there were gears beginning to turn; an ember long neglected being breathed upon and coaxed slowly back to life.

"For your leetle vun, Katya?"

"Yes."

She placed a hand one one of his own; tiny and fragile in comparison.

"Please."

_This is madness._

No, it is the only thing that makes sense. They're criminals; cowards. If one is at war, what higher crime can there be than betraying one's own country to the least of one's instincts?

_The men stood ready, pale early autumn light filtering around them to wash the color and depth from the world. To the man called, 'The Iron Fist' by his comrades, they were oddly flat.  The shtrafbat. He was not sure why this was, but they seemed to be ghosts already standing there at the edge of the mine field._

_He readied his gun._

Not long now.

_There was a part of him that could see the sense in it. These were men who had, in one way or another, betrayed their country in the eyes of their superiors, had been tried and found guilty. One did not allow oneself the disgrace of becoming a POW or letting their fear get the better of them. Not when so much was at stake._

_And yet…were they not taken from the same iron bones of Mother Russia? Were they simply found wanting and in need of a forge?_

Is that not what this is?

_Why did it have to come like this; cleansed in their own blood? How could their Mother desire the precious blood of Her own children? And us? What does it make us if we send them to places we dare not tread untried?_

_They pelted across the field in a frenzy._

_He knew they must have been running very fast - they had no where else to go. Advance and trample the ground, clearing it for the regular unit or be shot by the zagradbat. In his mind, though, they moved so, so slowly as they died by the score._

_He could feel the mines going off just as much as he could hear them. One moment a man was running and the next he was simply gone. Over and over again it continued in a crazed pattern across the field, the ground seeming to shiver beneath his feet._

_The one that turned he swore he could sense before he could see. It was like a thread pulled tight in his mind, attached from himself to one flat, colorless man. The trampler slowed, and as he did, the man called Zheleznyy Kulak raised his firearm. Their gazes met for half a second, and as the weapon discharged, its wielder saw his victim mouth a single, silent word._


	5. Demoman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Up the airy mountain,
> 
> Down the rushy glen,
> 
> We daren't go a-hunting
> 
> For fear of little men."
> 
> \- The Fairies, William Allingham

_In fucking Scotland…_

"This is ridiculous."

"Ach, I told ye I'd listen tae ye if ye came with me, lass. There's work tae be done an' I cannae waste time. Got lives dependin' on me, I do."

The woman in blue gave the back of Tavish DeGroot's head a withering look and readjusted her jacket, inwardly grumbling at the weight of an iron horse shoe within its pocket. Her neck was itchy from the red wool yarn around it that was threaded through a smooth, doughnut-shaped rock the one-eyed man called a 'faery stone' in some kind of childish necklace. It was supposed to help ward her against…whatever it was they were out and about to look after. He hadn't been clear; in fact he'd confessed he himself didn't even know precisely who or what their target was. All either of them knew for certain was that its future involved an unbalanced Scot and a truly obscene volume of explosives.

It was just before midnight, the air chilly and damp; the pair of them standing at a crossroads waiting for what DeGroot had called his, 'contact'.

As her watch struck the hour, the sloe-eyed woman saw Tavish straighten and look down the road a bit. Following his gaze, the woman saw the outline of a short man walking in the moonlight along one of the wheel ruts, his gait unsteady as he sang something unintelligible; clearly inebriated. Believing the situation she was in could not possibly annoy her more, she was proven wrong when she saw the way her guide's face lit up upon noticing the precariously swaying man coming toward them.

 _Probably a drinking buddy_ , she thought, expression twisting as if she'd just bitten into a lemon.

"Mind yer manners, now," he said to her lowly. "The Good Folk can be easily offended, although Wallace Moss Whiskers ain't at all a bad sort."

Resisting the urge the grimace, she only smiled tightly and spoke through her teeth. "Oh, I'm sure he's just  _super_."

_Earlier…_

" _Tavish there's some Yankee tart 'ere tae see yer idle arse!_ "

The woman in blue pulled a deadpan expression completely wasted on the short, blind woman standing in the doorway before her. She found her ankles and calves being prodded at by the older woman's cane as if she were being assessed by them.

A deep, thickly accented voice called back. "Ach, I'm oot back, mum! Give me a moment and I'll be roight 'round!"

"Fah! An' wot are ye doin' 'round back, lad? Nappin', no doubt! Or playin' with them ruddy horse shoes a' yers! Dinnae think I haven't heard ye oot back this mornin' clankin' away! Right disgrace, ye are playin' horse shoes while all them children gone missin'!"

"Tha's exactly wot I'm workin' on the shoes for, mum!"

The woman in blue felt her heart skip a beat as the owner of the voice emerged from behind the house. He was possessed of an impressive build, a white, carnivore's smile and she found the planes of his face pleasing; good cheek bones and a jaw line that was angular but masculine. Even the missing eye lent a certain roguish appeal and she was half tempted to bend her professional guidelines (she had needs to be met, after all, and it was proving to be a long assignment).  Then, she caught a whiff of his breath and realized he'd been drinking before noon. By the strength of the scent standing even as far from him as she was, she could only imagine what sort of ungodly brew he must have partaken of.

"Oh, aye? An' wot exactly are ye plannin' tae do, Tavish? Invite the babe-snatchers tae a game a horseshoes? If yer father could see ye now, God rest his soul, he'd box yer ears an' be right tae do so!"

"Yes, mum," he said patiently before turning to the woman in blue. "Ach, beg yer pardon, Miss. How can I help ye?"

"I'm actually wondering if I might be able to help  _you_ ," the woman said, extending a hand. "Lissie Grieves."

"Tavish DeGroot," the one-eyed man replied, shaking her hand. "I do apologize, Ms. Grieves, but I'm a lehttle busy at the moment."

"I can talk while you work, if that's alright. Actually I wanted to discuss some employment opportunities with you."

"Ha! Good luck gettin' an honest day's work outta  _this_  one," Tavish's mother spat, batting at her son with her cane before letting out a rattling cough. "Right lazy git an' no manners besides! Is this any way tae treat a guest, child? I raised ye better than tha'! Invite 'er in for a cuppa if nothin' else!"

"Yes, mum," the man said again, offering the woman in blue a smile. "My apologies, Ms. Grieves. Fancy a cup a' tea?"

"I'd love one."

Mrs. Degroot stepped aside for her son and his guest. The interior of the house was cozy but uncluttered, tartan and lace the primary theme in the parlor to which she was led. Tavish gestured to an armchair set by a short table in front of the fireplace.

"Wait here a moment an' I'll be back with tea," he said. "D'ye have a preference, lass?"

She shook her head and replied, "Whatever's clever."

"Brilliant; I'll get some a' the gunpowder black, then," he said with his carnivore's smile as he exited.

The woman in blue spared a moment to take in her surroundings. A coat of arms involving several bombs and a bottle of liquor was placed prominently above the mantle piece and a number of photographs featuring three family members were spread liberally upon the walls. Each of them had a frame with a pronouncedly different shape or raised pattern upon it, and they all seemed to be within easy reach should a short, old blind woman wish to hold them. From the look of the wall behind each one as well as the lack of dust, it seemed none of them ever stayed neglected for too long on their hooks. It made Tavish's visitor smile privately in her host's absence. Quieting herself, she didn't have to strain at all to hear the man's mother continuing her tirade of disapproval from the kitchen, the younger of the pair replying with an ever patient repetition of, 'Yes, mum.'

He returned carrying a tea tray with a pot, two cups with saucers, sugar, cream and a little stack of biscuits. There seemed to be a distracted air about him as he set it before her and made her up a cup with two sugars and cream. While he poured himself some, it almost seemed more to put up appearances than to drink. She took the opportunity to have a leisurely sip of her own, her host clearing his throat a little and removing a flask from his jacket.

"Beggin' yer pardon, lass, but I'll be havin' somethin' a mite stronger 'n tea. Ach, I hate bein' rude; I really do have a lot tae be doin', though." He took a quick swig from the flask, the strong scent she'd caught before filling the space between them. "Ye were talkin' aboot havin' a job for me?"

"Yes. The people I represent have been made aware of your clan's particular skill set and they were interested in recruiting you for a project that would make use of them."

"I hate tae say it, but is there any other time we might discuss this?" he said with a grimace, looking out the window.

"I'm afraid the offer is quite time sensitive," she said with an arched eyebrow. "I beg your pardon, but what on earth has you this preoccupied?"

"I dinnae if you've heard," he said, "but our village has been subjected tae a rash a' kidnappin's. Three wee ones been taken without a trace."

"That's quite distressing," she concurred. "Do you have any children yourself you're concerned for?"

"Nae, but I'm aimin' tae find out wot took the wee bairns."

"You don't think that's a job better left to the police?" she queried before pausing with a furrowed brow. "Wait, what do you mean,  _what_  took them?"

His remaining eye twinkled and he smiled to show his bicuspids. "S'why I can't call the police – won't be any good on a case like this. We aren't dealin' with a human abductor, lass. We're dealin' with somethin' outside a' most mortal men's jurisdiction."

The woman in blue felt her stomach make a peculiar twist as precautionary lines began to draw taught within her mind. Either the man was serious or he was putting her on, and judging by the look on his face and every fiber of his body language, she was fairly certain it was the former. While she'd been warned he was an eccentric this seemed like a bridge too far. Things were going south very, very quickly. Regretting the words even as she spoke them, the sloe-eyed woman asked, "And just what  _are_  we dealing with?"

Leaning over, grin feral and eyes alight, he said, "Faeries."

"Faeries?" she echoed flatly.

"Aye! Well…alright, I dinnae know _exactly_  wot it is, but I get the feelin' it's something tae do with the Good Folk or their kin." He held up the flask. "Part o' the reason I'm nippin' off a' this. The fae have a soft spot for drunks, children and the mad. It's served me well in the past!" He let a laugh roll out of him like someone playing on a snare drum. "Nowadays ye dinnae see many of 'em venturin' oot and aboot tae steal children, but every once and a while…" He shrugged. "Not many o' the Good Folk left, but tha's nae gonna stop me from blowin' 'em tae Kingdom Come if they start lookin' at me village as if it's a buffet!"

"Wait, you think whatever this is is  _eating_  the kids from your village?"

"Ach, lass…I hate tae say this but when it comes tae supernatural bein's, we humans are like the be all, end all a' snack foods. Soft with crunchy insides and full a' fat an' salt? S'like crisps - can't eat just one!"

The woman in blue only nodded, smiling politely.  _Jesus God I would hate to see the fruit salad this one came out of._  "O…kay."

"So, I thank ye kindly for yer job offer, Ms. Grieves, but if it comes down tae gettin' paid or savin' the wee ones, the choice isn't hard tae make."

"I'm not saying you can't…do that it's…well…would you at least hear me out? Would it be a huge distraction to talk while you work?"

The man gave her an appraising look. "Are ye sure, lass? We could be treadin' on some dangerous ground. Can ye hold yer own if it comes down tae it?"

"I assure you, I'm quite capable," she said.

"Been a while since I've had anyone join me for this sort a' thing," he said thoughtfully. "It'd be a welcome change a' pace, but we'll have tae get you properly outfitted."

"And what, exactly, does that entail?" she queried apprehensively.

His grin broadened. "Come with me."

_Later …_

Wallace Moss Whiskers lived up to his name. He was short, had a pot belly but wiry limbs and draped over his frame was ratty coat whose age and design suggested it had been made in the previous century. What hair the woman in blue could see peeking out in an unkempt plume from beneath his hat was black, but the rat's nest of a beard that grew from his chin, jaw and jowls was an undeniably algae shade of green. She half expected a baby bird to stick its head out from it and peep plaintively to be fed. His eyes were beady and bright and his smile was the color of cheddar cheese. When he spoke, the scent of his breath reminded her very strongly of a peat bog.

"Why as I live an' breathe! Tavish DeGroot!" He let out a boisterous laugh. "It's been a dog's age, lad! What brings ye out here and who's the bonnie young lass?" He made no attempt to hide the lust in the gaze he cast on the woman in blue.

"Oi, she's no concern a' yours, ye old lecher!" Tavish said, joining his friend in a laugh. "Sorry tae say I'm here on business, nae pleasure."

"Aye, I thought I might be seein' ye b'fore long. 'tis about the wee bairns, I take it?"

Tavish nodded. "I wanted tae know if ye had any information about them. Is nae a case o' changelin's – there'd be something left behind if tha' were true."

Wallace Moss Whiskers shook his head. "Nay, none a' the kin 'ave been in tha' business for a while. Now, I don't be knowin' wha's takin' the wee ones, but ye may want tae be talkin' to the Wulver. He's been complainin' aboot poor fishin' for the past month."

Tavish nodded and gave his friend a hearty pat on the back. "Thank ye kindly, Wallace. I'll have a word with him an' see if anythin' comes of it."

"Ach, it's good tae be seein' ye again! Come by more often, y'old rascal – we'll have a night of it like we used tae!"

"I'll make a point a' it!" the Scotsman said with a grin. "Keep yerself in good health, Wallace!"

"And you, laddie! Tuck sends his regards!" The green-bearded little man continued on his way past the crossroads, singing something as he went the woman in blue could just make out. " _Elm he do brood, and Oak he do hate, and Willow man go walkin' if you stays out late…_ "

"Well then!" said Tavish, beaming. "Tha's as grand a start as I could hope for! Good luck, ye are!" His companion found herself on the receiving end of a pat on the back that caused her to stagger forward a step.

Resisting the urge to mention the irony she found in the statement, the woman in blue instead gave him a puzzled look, brow furrowed. "A tip about fishing from a hobo with a bad dye job?"

"Ach! Lass! D'ye nae know one o' the Good Folk when ye see 'em?" He paused, looking her over before shaking his head. "…Nae, I suppose ye wouldn't, would ye? Most don't. Ah well – just stick close tae me, keep the horse shoe at the ready and dinnae take that stone from 'round yer neck and ye should be fine."

"Where are we going now?" she asked as he started off down the road and then onto a rarely traveled trail.

"Goin' tae see the Wulver! S'a bit of a trek, but it's nae a bad night oot. An' we can have tha' talk ye wanted."

The woman in blue felt more than a little out of sorts. She wasn't operating from her typical position of control and she felt significant doubt about achieving her goal. Considering what the stakes were, this was entirely unacceptable.

"The company I represent has need of someone with your particular skill set." She paused and offered a tight smile. "That is to say – the skill set your clan has cultivated and passed on to you."

"So it's a Demoman ye're needin'?" he said. "'aven't had a lot a' tha' sort a' work in a while; spates o' it here an' there."

"Yes, I know. I thought you could use something a bit steadier. It can't be easy to provide for yourself and your mother with such infrequent employment."

"Ye'd be surprised," he said with a shrug. "I have a lot o' odd jobs and we get by alright. We're nae rich, mind, but we're nae uncomfortable, either. Ye live in a village and make a name for yerself like me family has, ye get people willin' tae help ye oot. Ye're American – ye probably wouldn't understand. Everythin's new an' proud an' lonely o'er there."

"I've heard sentiments along those lines before. You're very sweet to your mother. The picture frames and all, I mean."

He stopped, turning to look at her with raised eyebrows. "You noticed tha'?"

"Sort of hard not to," she said. "It's very thoughtful. A blind woman can't see a photograph, but if the frame is a certain shape or has a raised pattern on it she can feel it and associate it with a particular memory."

"Ye're clever," he said at length. "How's tha' workin' out for ye?"

"Being clever?"

"Aye."

"Well, it's got me this far."

"Out in the woods in the middle 'o the night huntin' faeries with a black, Scottish Cyclops?" he said with his carnivore's grin.

"Worse places to be," she said, grinning back.

"Ye say that as if ye speak from experience," he chuckled.

"The world's an interesting place," the woman in blue replied as they started off again into the woods.

He handed her a flashlight from his kit, taking out one for himself as well. The moon cast mottled shapes through the leafy canopy around them, speckling the forest like the hide of some spectral jaguar. Nearby she could hear a river or creek babbling to itself.

"I was reading up on your clan's child rearing techniques. It's an…intriguing method."

"S'cruel," he said curtly. "Abandoned at birth an' then accidentally killin' me first set a' adoptive parents goin' after Nessie. Could a' avoided tha' if I'd had proper trainin', but tha's over and done with. I know me parents did it because they love me and wanted me tae grow up in the tradition of the clan."

"You're like lions, then. Thrown off a cliff and made to climb back to prove yourselves."

"Somethin' like, aye. She's a pet o' the Unseelie court o' the fae, ye know."

"…Sorry?"

"Nessie! The Loch Ness Monster, lass! She cannae live on the fish in the loch itself, so the Unseelie court feeds and keeps her! Evil faeries, they are. Shh…" He froze and narrowed his eye, casting the beam of his flashlight between a pair of trees where it reflected off the surface of a rushing little creek.

The woman in blue caught her breath as she glimpsed a hunched figure seated on a rock on the opposite bank, features obscured by shadow and moonlight. Through the gloom, she could just make out that he held a fishing pole.  He appeared to have on some sort of hat or hood, his head seeming misshapen. He was unusually hirsute, skin uneven in the dimness. Tavish motioned for her to keep her flashlight down, striding out to the creek's edge and raising a hand in greeting.

"Greetings tae ye, Wulver! Good fishin' in these parts?"

The figure on the opposite bank shifted and let out a gruff noise before speaking in a voice that seemed like the growl of an agitated dog. "There b'ain't been sae much as a minnow," he grumbled. "Trouble's only been recent. Somethin' botherin' me usual stock."

"Aye, Wallace Moss Whiskers was tellin' me as much. What d'ye reckon?"

"I dinnae know," grumbled the man, "but it started happenin' 'bout two months ago with all the screamin'. Three times I've heard it. Haven't seen the source o' it, though. Been travelin' up the creek a way tae see if I can't get passed it, but sae far, I have nae had any luck. Empty hooks for the Wulver." He shook his deformed head. "What's the world comin' tae?"

"It's a crime, tae be sure," Tavish said with a nod. "Me friend and I'll be travelin' up the creek a spell, then, and see if we cannae find wot's causin' ye so much strife."

The seated man turned to look at the woman in blue, nodding in acknowledgement. She caught, for just a moment, a flash of amber eyes and felt all the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The Wulver turned back to her companion and said, "Ye're a good man, Tavish. I hope ye find wot it is. Be careful."

"Thank ye kindly!" the Scot said with a smile before gesturing for his potential benefactor to join him. "This way, lass."

Going along with him, she allowed the uneasiness of being in the Wulver's presence drain from her before saying, "Who's Tuck?"

He gave her a mystified look as if she'd just performed a magic trick before shaking his head with a short laugh. "Ach, right - Wallace mentioned him. Friend 'o mine," her guide said with a fond smile. "Although I have nae seen him in quite a while. Glad tae hear he's well, though."

The pair continued, walking alongside the creek, which was steadily broadening into a river.  They diverged from it when the surrounding brush became too dense, but kept it within earshot.

"Despite everything, you still treat your mother with more care and respect than a lot of people I know."

"Like I said, it was cruel, but they did it because they wanted me tae be successful in life."

"Are you?"

"There's more than one way tae define success, lass."

"I agree. You've made a name for yourself in town and have a good relationship with your mother. That's important; something money can't buy."

"If ye have somethin' tae say, Ms. Grieves, come out with it," Tavish said, turning to look at her.

"You can't buy the kind of relationship you have with your mother, but you can't buy more time, either. Her line of work hasn't been kind to her lungs, has it?"

His gaze hardened and he spoke in a steady, colorless tone. "Nae, it hasn't."

"And Scotland doesn't exactly have the best environment to help her with it."

"Nae, it doesn't." His shoulders were set and his hands were clenching.

"And you don't make enough money to relocate her to a better climate."

"Nae, I don't."

"She needs someplace warmer and drier. If you take the job I'm offering you, you'll have more than enough money to get her where she needs to be and you'll be doing the job your clan trained you to do every single day. We'll even advance you enough to get things all squared away for her prior to your first day at work."

He opened his mouth to say something when the air was rent suddenly by a shrill scream, the pitch of it enough to elicit a cry of pain from the duo, both covering their ears.

"What on earth-?"

"Bean-shìdh!" the Scotsman said, eyes alight and teeth bared, any irritation he had concerning his hunting partner forgotten completely. "Stay here, lass!" Before the woman in blue could protest, he'd charged off into the wilderness, leaving her to herself.

For half a moment she stood there staring after him, protest dead on her lips before it could even be uttered. Embattled frustration and fear wound an uneasy trail through her mind.

_What if you can't do this? What if he won't come? What are your options? Are there other candidates? What about kidnapping? It's not as if the Company's averse to a little mind wiping and reprogramming. Why do they want him so damn badly, anyway? In the woods chasing after hobos and shrieks. You know that scream sounded less like a person and more like a hors—_

As if reading her thoughts, the dark-haired woman started a bit as she heard a soft nickering sound behind her.

Turning, she saw a great, black horse standing just beyond the wilderness. It was sturdily built and its hide glistened in the moonlight. As her eyes focused, she saw that its mane was tangled with water weed and the whole of it was sopping wet; as if it had just emerged from a pool. It pawed the ground once or twice, ears pricked forward as it took a few mincing steps toward her, then back again.

The yarn of the necklace itched fiercely around her neck; the stone attached to it becoming suddenly very heavy. Wincing, but not taking her eyes from the beast before her, the woman in blue tugged at the yarn. It was so uncomfortable and as she tried to think on the matter, she couldn't remember precisely why she was wearing it. Details about this entire situation were suddenly vague and fuzzy. It was very peculiar because the sloe-eyed woman knew she was quite certain about the whole affair only a little while ago. She tried to focus but it was very difficult with the itchy yarn, heavy stone and prancing horse. So many distractions. If she could just clear her head…

Reaching up, she undid the knot of the necklace with deft fingers, tossing the little thing away and rubbing her neck with a sigh of relief. As she did, the horse stopped its odd little dance just out of reach of the woman and paced in her direction, snuffling curiously. Smiling, she remembered the horse on Dell's ranch and wished very much that she had a lump of sugar to give to this one, too. It was such a beautiful animal; all glossy strength and luminous eyes. Someone must have lost it out here, although she couldn't imagine who could have let such a marvelous thing go.

 _That must be why I'm out here_ , she thought to herself.  _Yes, I must bring you home_.

Reaching out, the woman cooed to the horse, "That's a good boy. Come to mother! You poor thing; you must have fallen into the river. It's alright - we'll go home and get you dried and cleaned up. How the little ones will love you!"

Sidling up, the horse allowed her to pat its neck and withers, the woman in blue finding them remarkably cold. Something in the back of her mind stirred and fluttered in alarm, but before she could heed it, the horse let out a sharp whinny and its raven-haired companion found herself unable to release her hold upon the creature. Panic breaking the glamour's hold on her, she let out a truncated cry before the horse reared with a scream of its own and began thundering off through the brush in the direction of the river; half carrying and half dragging its prey along with it. She wailed in pain as she was taken - underbrush, roots and stones tearing at her helplessly dangling legs as the sound of the river came ever closer. Managing to turn her head, she saw them swiftly approaching the banks. This part of the river was wide and clearly quite deep. Terrified, she came to the sharp conclusion that this creature, whatever it was, intended to drown her.

" _Lass, use the horse shoe_!"

For a split second the Scotsman came into her field of vision, just breaking free of the woods and gesticulating wildly.

What the Hell did he want her to do with it? Shoe the damned horse?

With the water quickly approaching and no better idea occurring to her, the woman in blue moved her free arm with great effort, pulling the iron shoe from her pocket and gouging it into the horse's side.

The effect was instantaneous.

It reared once, its too-human scream momentarily deafening the woman as the smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils and the adhesive properties of its hide lost hold of her. She crashed gracelessly into river rocks and shrubs as her equine adversary staggered onward, eyes rolling and features sunken in a truly ghastly manner. It made a plunge for the river, appearing to have decided to cut its losses, when someone swooped in to scoop up the woman in blue.  She caught sight of some small, dark object moving through the air in an arc aimed at the monster.

She was thrown to the ground again, blinking up into the face of Tavish, who was shielding her with his body as a loud boom shook the world. There was a moment of silence before the woman heard a great many soft, pattering noises all around them.  Sparing a glance away from the Scot, saw countless chunks of bloody, charred meat showering down upon the river banks.

"Oh, they'll have tae glue tha' bastard back taegether in  _Hell_!" he laughed merrily. "Kelpie," he said, as if this would explain everything that had transpired. "Ach, hopefully that'll take care o' the problem. Ye did well, lass!" Looking down at her, gore still raining around the pair, the Scotsman said, "Sae, aboot that job offer o' yer's…"

_"Dinnae take another step, lad! Ye've got tae watch where ye put yer feet in this place!"_

_Tavish DeGroot blinked up tearfully, looking around to try and catch sight of who had spoken._

_It was the only time he allowed himself to cry, far away from the other children at the orphanage. They all regarded him with a certain level of terror and awe. He'd told them all how he'd accidentally blown up his first pair of adoptive parents on a hunt for the Loch Ness monster, and had been laughed off by most of the children. A few of the younger ones had watched him with saucer-eyed, fearful reverence and soon everyone else did, too, after someone had made the terrible mistake of gifting him a chemistry set one birthday.  None of the chemicals included in the kit were_ supposed _to be able to create an explosion like the one that Tavish had used to reduce the kitchen to a smoldering pile of ash and a collective shattered sense of security.  But, he'd found the most fascinating ingredients in the cupboard under the sink and he had no intention of letting them go to waste doing something as boring as disinfecting the loo._

_It was all well and good, but he had no one to confide in or play with. If it wasn't his skin color, it was his penchant for finding new ways of creating explosive substances. It created a bit of a horrible feedback loop; his inability to find playmates making him turn to explosions which, in turn, drove off the other children. It mightn't have been that way if only he hadn't lost his eye to one of his earliest experiments and brought into sharp relief to all the others just how detachable body parts could be._

_If he couldn't have the love, he'd do what he could with the fear. And who would be afraid of him if they knew he cried? So, out he was on his own in the sparse wilderness nearby, releasing what was pent up inside. Or at the very least, he'd believed he was on his own._

_Looking up, he caught sight of a young boy, perhaps a year his junior, seated in a tree who was waving him backward with one hand and pointing to something at his feet with another. The other child was no one the orphan had ever seen before. His hair was scruffy and red, his face flecked with freckles and nose upturned with his teeth a bit over-large. Whatever he was wearing looked very old and over time had adopted the shade of its surroundings; a drab, green-grey with a contrastingly bright red scarf around his neck. Dropping his gaze, Tavish found his foot just outside the edge of a ring of white mushrooms._

_"Tis a Faery Ring!" the redheaded boy told him. "Ye mustn't step intae them or ye might get caught by one of the Fae."_

_"Oh," said Tavish, rubbing his grimy, tear-stained cheek. "Sorry - I didn't know."_

_"Ach, not know a Faery Ring? Ye got tae be more careful - there's plenty a' stuff in this place tha's dangerous, ye know." The boy swung down with a fluid grace and landed nearby Tavish, smiling. "I'm Tuck!"_

_"I'm Tavish," the one-eyed boy replied._

_"Ha! Both our names begin with the same letter! Tha's good luck!"_

_"Is it?"_

_"Ach, maybe. I dunno! Anyway, it's nice tae meet ye, Tavish!" He shook hands enthusiastically. "I've seen ye walkin' 'round these parts bawlin' yer head off before."_

_"I weren't bawlin'!" Tavish said indignantly, drawing himself up to his full height and puffing out his chest while hurriedly rubbing clean his runny nose. "And it's nae polite tae watch people like that!"_

_"Ain't polite tae blow 'em up, neither," Tuck said._

_"How d'ye know about tha'?"_

_"Well it made a big enough noise tae be heard through all 'o Creation, didn't it? How couldn't I know! Fine bit 'o mischief, tha' was!"_

_"I haven't seen you with the others," the orphan said carefully. "D'ye live 'round these parts?"_

_"Aye, fer now!" the freckle-faced child said. "I live in the woods with the Faeries."_

_"Oh," Tavish said with an owlish blink, taking in this information with the same factual simplicity of someone being told the time of day. "Are ye a Faery, too?"_

_"Nae, I'm a changelin'," Tuck said with a shrug. "When I was a wee bairn, they switched me with one 'o their own. They do tha' sometimes. S'nae a bad life, though! Dinnae have tae go tae school or eat sprouts or nothin' like tha'."_

_"Could I come with?"_

_"Hmm. I dinnae know if it's a good idea. Sometimes they do awful things tae wee ones. It's been a long time since I've been with 'em, an' I grow slower 'n other children I've seen. Everythin's kind of slow with them. If they come for ye, go with 'em. But I wouldn't go tae them on your own - they might eat ye or somewhat awful."_

_"Well, I wouldn't like tha'," Tavish said decisively. Looking Tuck over, he asked, "D'ye wanna play or anythin'? I dinnae have any mates back at the orphanage."_

_"Sure! Ach, come with me, I'll show ye 'round sae ye dinnae end up dinner for a Kelpie or nothin'!" The redhead caught hold of his new friend's arm with a smile. "You went after Nessie, I heard! Bad bit 'o luck with yer parents, mate. Still, I'm nae surprised. She's a pet o' the Unseelie court, ye know! Let me tell ye all aboot it!"_

**Author's Note:**

> Holy spumoni it's been a while since I've touched this. Originally I posted this on tf2chan and fanfiction.net as Amp. This was way back in like 2009/10, I think? Anyway, a lot has changed in the TF2 canon, but this was my take on it given what we knew back then. I'm hoping to get the last chapter and epilogue completed. To the folks who have read this and liked it and commented, thank you so much!


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